You're on, Beanpole
by zara2148
Summary: A tale of friendship and one-upmanship. Mainly one-upmanship.


**You're on, Beanpole**

"Argh! I can't believe I'm losing to a fuzzy meatloaf!" Despite his words, Once-ler couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. "Are you cheating? I swear you must be cheating. For shame."

The Lorax gave him the stink eye. "Hey, watch it beanpole. Or I just might make you cough up extra." He turned back to his hand. "I've just had a lot of time to get good at this game. That's all."

Once-ler looked up from his cards. "What stakes are we playing for, anyway?"

"What, playing for fun isn't enough for you?"

He shrugged. "No, just wondering if I should be prepared to sacrifice a few truffula fruits or something."

The Lorax thought for a minute. "Well, I liked those marshmellows, offensive as they were."

A pout. "I'm out of them." No thanks to him and those greedy animals whose cuteness he could never resist…

"You're out of luck as well." The Lorax lay down yet another winning hand.

Once-ler threw his cards down in disgust. "Darn!" A hopeful look was shot the forest guardian's way. "Double or nothing?"

"You're on, beanpole."

* * *

In between a couple of games, he asked the question that had been haunting him. "Do… do you think I can do it?" he near-whispered, clutching his cards tighter. "Give up on my lifelong dream?"

The Lorax lay a hand upon his knee, Once-ler's shoulder lying out of his reach. "The thing about dreams is that there are plenty of others out there for you to chase after. You just have to pick one and go for it." He dealt them a new hand. "Now keep your mind on the game, and you might stand a chance of beating me."

* * *

The moon was rising when Once-ler finally decided to call it quits, though not for a lack of trying. Really, how did the Lorax manage to win that many games without cheating?

"Who would have thought orangey was a card shark?" he muttered under his breath, making his way back to his cottage.

He didn't even need to hear their footsteps to know the animals were following him. As they had been for the past few weeks, looking to sleep in his cottage with him.

He'd always put up a fuss about the animals sleeping with him, mentioning in particular how unhygienic it was. Yeah, he typically gave in so they ended up sleeping with him anyway, but it was the _principle_ of the matter. A man should not surrender his home to invaders so easily, even if they did happen to be exceptionally cute invaders.

So he did his best to make it difficult for them… from locking them out of his cottage (they'd raise such a racket that he'd be forced to give in) to lacing their marshmallows with caffeine so they'd be too wired to sleep (he was the only one who suffered from that plan. Hyperactive animals who still insisted on keeping him company = BAD).

Why they made up their minds that his cottage was the only comfortable place to sleep, he didn't know.

Tonight, though… tonight he just didn't have the energy.

He left his door unlocked and ajar a crack, allowing the animals to slip in after him as he undressed for bed, neglecting to brush his teeth. Pulling on his bunny pajama top, his lanky body flopped onto the bed as animals around him settled in for the night. The humming fish and Swamee swans snuggled into their bowls, the Barbaloots lay down everywhere from his rafters to his bedposts (but not the fridge. That had been officially, vocally banned, and he WOULD hold firm to that decree in the face of their overwhelming cuteness).

Pipsqueak curled up next to him with a contented sigh, drawing a smile and a quick hug out of him. Lastly, the Lorax flopped down on the bed beside him. "Goodnight, beanpole."

"Night, meatloaf." Surrounded by their warmth, Once-ler drifted off into sleep.

* * *

The Lorax awoke to an unfamiliar smell the next morning, though by no means an unpleasant one. "Beanpole?"

"I'm making breakfast. Pancakes." He flipped what could only be said food, though it looked neither like a pan nor a cake. "Enough for everybody."

_That_ was a first. The Lorax snuggled back underneath the blankets and into the mattress. "Hmm, well keep at it, beanpole. Do this often enough, and you might even pay off your poker debt to me someday."

"Okay, word to the wise. It is never a good idea to anger the person holding the spatula."

"And wearing the pink apron? I'm so intimidated."

"Alright, just for that, I challenge you to a pancake eating contest." He raised an eyebrow at him in a silent dare, but couldn't stop the grin making its way across his face.

A smirk snaked its way across the Lorax's face in response. "You're on, beanpole."

* * *

Fifty or so years later, the silence amongst the Truffula saplings was broken by a couple of bickering old farts.

"I see you're still comfortable sporting pink."

A flippant toss of said pink scarf over his shoulder. "And your fur is still on the wrong end of a toothbrush."

"Fine talk, coming from the guy with a mustache bigger than mine."

Once-ler fingered said mustache. "It is impressive, isn't it?"

"If by impressive you mean it looks like a caterpillar crawled onto your face and died there, then yes it is."

"How dare you." He crossed his arms and leveled a glare from underneath his bushy eyebrows. "You sir, have impugned my honor."

"Impugned? Whoa, don't go using up your whole vocabulary there, beanpole."

"That's it. There's only one way to reasonably settle this matter." An eyebrow was cocked in challenge. "Pancake eating contest. Here and now." Said eyebrow was joined by an evil grin. "I'm certain I can still eat you underneath the table."

A smirk once more snaked across the Lorax's face. Despite the years, some things never change. "You're on, beanpole."

Some of the strangest friendships are the longest lasting ones. And vice versa.


End file.
